


Take This Waltz

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Depression, F/M, Heavy Angst, Marriage, Merry Month of Cohen, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "They were married in Vienna."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caladenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia/gifts).



> Thank you MiaCooper, for organizing this wonderfully inspirational fic event, and Caladenia, for the thorough beta and every delightful conversation that came with it. And thank you, my love, for suggesting this song and dancing with me.
> 
> Inspired by Leonard Cohen's "Take This Waltz".

* * *

 

They were married in Vienna.

Not Venice or Indiana. Not Dorvan or San Francisco or any other place that held personal meaning, but a city they knew nothing about, only its history, both the glorious and the terrifying. Neither was the ceremony a big event attended by the cream of Starfleet, nor an intimate gathering of family and close friends.

In Vienna, just the two of them, in an age-old cathedral with nine hundred windows, a ceiling reaching up to the heavens, and stone walls seeping death.

Kathryn said the city was beautiful and romantic. Maybe it was the late October with the chill of winter just beneath the winds, but he thought it was cold and gloomy. What was he to say, though, when the woman he never dared to believe would say yes to him suggested it, desperate to escape the endless attention they’d been subjected to since their return to Earth.

Making their way down the aisle in the empty church, their hushed voices echoing softly in the vast space, the surrounding splendor was wasted on them.

Kathryn was pale after the long walk from their hotel, her feet and back hurting despite the breaks they had taken, and even though she didn’t admit it, the early contractions were probably provoked again by the exertion.

As plain and short as the ceremony was, he couldn’t deny its power. The words recited were centuries old, the promises embedded in those lines eternal, and with the ring he slid onto her finger, he sealed the pledge he had already given long ago to this woman now heavy with their child.

Till death do us part, he said, and saw tears pooling in her eyes when she lifted her gaze. And for a moment, one brief moment in time he was helpless to hold on to, she looked happy.

They never made it to the petite restaurant they had reserved, never held each other through the wedding waltz only few would have witnessed.

Outside the cathedral, enveloped by a mist thick as smoke and equally suffocating, her contractions turned into bleeding. Collapsing onto the wet stone paving, she didn’t make a sound. Not one plea for him to hurry, to save the baby, to save them. Nothing.

Two years, she said on their departure home after she had been nurtured to strength and separated from the life too weak to live. That was the time she gave them to mourn what was beyond mourning. In two years, they would come back and say goodbye.

Such a practical approach, he thought. Very rational and efficient. Very Kathryn.

Keeping to himself that his grief would no doubt follow a more winding path, one he couldn’t define in advance, he agreed. Their individual differences had forged their relationship stronger from the start. Who was he to judge her means to cope?

He never saw her shed a tear for the child they lost.

Mentioning the baby and the future they had dreamed brought upon her a heavy silence. Taking her into his arms only made her tense. It seemed even showing his own sorrow was too much for her, the old walls rising around her in a heartbeat.

Maybe those signs should have been the first warnings, but sunken in his own grief, accepting her avoidance as a part of her healing, he quietly stored away every blanket and piece of clothing reminding them of a dream lost, then stepped back, and gave her the room she appeared to need. And after two more miscarriages and the doctors leaving them without hope, they closed the door to parenthood in unspoken agreement without having a single discussion about the full meaning of that loss.

Never before had he been so grateful of work. For himself, but most of all for Kathryn. Some days, the demand and direction their duties offered was the only thing keeping them afloat, pulling them back to life in a way their wedding vows weren’t able to.

She said she was sorry for being gone so often, sorry that he had to be the one making their new house feel like a home, but she wasn’t made for just a desk job and needed to get back to space.

He understood.

Even if life with her wasn’t like he had pictured, the most important thing was they were together. And if work would help her escape the shadows surrounding her, he would gladly support her choices. In time, she would come back to him, he told himself, while pushing aside the voice at the edge of his mind whispering that so far she had never really been his.

Later, he would have many opportunities to ponder at which point he should have woken up, what detail or dissonance should have been significant enough to force him to see that the road she had chosen wasn’t leading her to the light or to him, but somewhere further away.

Was it the lack of sleep visible under her eyes and the meals skipped because she claimed she wasn’t hungry? Or the missions that got longer and more dangerous, the risks she was all too eager to take? Or maybe the close calls she left unmentioned, wounds she made sure were healed before she got home, or the fact that he had to hear about these details through random talks with officers who knew more about his wife’s life than he did.

Then again, maybe the ones closest are always the blindest. For love, for hope, for avoiding the pain waiting the moment eyes are truly opened.

To the concerns of others, his answers were always the same.

Thank you, but we will manage. It’s been hard, but it’s getting easier. We have each other, everything is fine.

Which, in a way, was all true.

On the rare evenings they did spend together - her watching him in silence as he lit the candles and cooked her favorite meal, the easy conversation over dinner, her curling up against him on the couch with another glass of wine, and the cautious touches leading them to sleep late in pleasant exhaustion - life was as good as he had ever dreamed.

What remained unresolved, however, swept away from closer examination, was everything else.

At first, his questions were gentle nudges, filled with compassion and a sincere wish to connect. Would she consider coming home a little earlier? Perhaps they could go out for a walk or dinner at a new restaurant he had heard of? Maybe next week, she would reply, and with growing frustration, he would swallow his disappointment.

Yet the questions kept burning within him. What did she think about when she sat and stared at nothing, turning in her hands the pregnancy pendant he had crafted? Why was it so difficult for her to confide in him, to lean on him; her friend, her husband? When would she come back from wherever she was, look at him, and see how much he missed her?

Regardless of his best intentions, those questions soon became inquiries, escalating into demands, until every attempt at discussion seemed to bring out the worst in him. He hated the words pouring from his mouth, hated teetering on the brink of losing his temper, hated the angry man he had buried pushing through the layers of carefully built peace.

And still her distant, quiet composure prevailed. Frozen, unaffected.

Realizing he was only making her fortify her defenses instead of helping her tear them down, he gathered what was left of his pride and self-control, eased off the pressure, and once again molded himself to better fit her needs.

He had waited for her for a decade, what were a few months more?

She refused to see a counselor, saying she’d had enough of those during the debriefings. Neither did she want to talk with her friends or family, saying this wasn’t their cross to bear, and for once, he managed to hold his tongue. But if expressing herself somehow was so important to him, she said, she could try writing.

Nestled in the armchair, brows knit in concentration, she would sometimes write for hours. And even though the process seemed to draw her deeper into her private world, watching her efforts warmed his heart. Finally, she was pausing to explore her emotions and, for a while, breathing became easier.

He found his own solace in the steady routines of his work and friends close enough to know about their loss. And his spirituality too, although seeking guidance was harder than ever.

Haunted by images where everything he tried to hold on to vanished – footsteps in the sand, children playing in the attic, even his own voice as he shouted into the blinding, suffocating fog – each vision quest left him more agitated and lost than before. The struggle for answers threatened to drain him but eventually, the visions did turn clearer and calmer, allowing him to begin the slow journey to balance, all on his own.

One evening, filled with confidence after such a healing quest, he walked to where she sat reading in their living room, knelt in front of her, and took her hand into his.

Without demands or expectations, he wanted to tell her that he had faith in them both, that while the past was unchangeable, the future was still unwritten, waiting for them beyond the shadows. But the words of hope and comfort he had meant to speak died on his lips at the look passing over her features.

It was merely a flash, quickly smoothed and hidden under her usual blank face, but he saw… contempt.

She had disagreed with him before, disapproved of his actions, got furious by details he considered insignificant, but even in their most desperate times in the Delta Quadrant, he had never witnessed her contempt. He didn’t understand it, and after all he’d done for her, for them, he certainly didn’t deserve it.

Mind whirling, blood boiling, he lay awake far into the night, the blow delivered without a word spoken ripping open every wound over the past years. Fueled with determination to change everything once and for all, or leave and not look back, he woke up only to find her gone.

A short note told him she had got a last minute request to replace someone on a three-week mission to Angosia III and that while she hated leaving so abruptly, the opportunity was too good to reject and that she hoped they could talk when she returned.

He didn’t believe a word.

Neither did he bother to check if such a mission existed or if a substitute was required. None of it mattered anyway. Like a coward, she had bailed out of the conversation already long overdue and refused to confront his justified anger.

For the three weeks she was gone, the turbulence inside him had time to evolve. Disbelief, humiliation, disappointment, and rage expanding and cooling down in waves, helping him to wipe away the mist of denial and form a more accurate picture of their life, no matter how that honesty hurt.

He loved her, that much would always be true.

Equally true was that he loved the idea of her, of them, together.

The possibility of finding happiness with her was a beautiful dream that had steered his choices from the first day they had met, but so far, it had remained just that - a dream. Despite his deepest wishes, he needed to accept that all his devotion and persistent efforts might not be enough and that the fantasy might never become a reality.

Their relationship wasn’t equal, had never been, and it had taken him far too long to see how they both contributed to that imbalance.

Problem was, he loved her more. To him, her happiness meant everything. Because of this, he had freely sacrificed his needs for years, bent to her wishes and rules that might have been necessary when she was his captain but could not form a solid basis for a relationship.

His feelings for her were unconditional, immutable, eternal. That was both his weakness and his strength. Nevertheless, he could bring up his neglected needs and tell her what exactly he wanted from her and their marriage, regardless of the obvious risks.

Up until the last night prior to meeting her, his expectations stayed divided.

Part of him believed his suspicions would prove wrong and his initiative would lead to a fruitful and open if not also painful discussion, the first step to bridge the gap that had grown between them. But in some corner of his heart he kept firmly isolated, he was already mourning for her.

Only on her return, she surprised him by walking through the doors completely changed.

Without a trace of the avoidance that had long defined her, she reached out for his hand and looked him straight in the eyes. Humble and sincere, she apologized for all the hurt she had caused, for letting him down, deserting him, and retreating into her own sorrow when they should have dealt with their loss together.

And with every word leaving her lips, another piece of his bitterness melted away, the regret on her face muting the alarms in his mind. His plans and resolve crumbling at her feet yet again.

He didn’t like to think of himself as naive, but what else is a loving heart if not defenseless against the promises of happiness, grabbing onto any hope, willingly sinking into its sweet deception?

Overwhelmed at hearing her say all the things he had longed from her and having her there, physically and emotionally present, he couldn’t recall a thing he had so carefully rehearsed. In a storm of relief and affection, he crushed her into his embrace and kissed her, whispering his love over and over again. Her warm lips parted for him, her tired body yielding under him in the bed they hadn’t shared for months, and diving into passion he thanked the universe for bringing her back to him.

At breakfast, between shy smiles and touches relearning closeness, she told him that two years had soon passed and asked if he remembered what that meant.

Yes, he did remember. And contrary to what he had initially thought of her idea, he now welcomed the trip as a beautiful memorial and a rite of passage for them to move on.

Vienna bathed in the brilliant midday sun when they arrived.

Unlike his recollections, the streets were full of life and laughter, the old buildings and monuments splendid echoes of history. Colors were brighter, the wind gentler, and the crisp autumn air filling his lungs a wonderful reminder of how good it felt to be alive.

Walking through the city, they didn’t talk much.

Perhaps she was caught in the past like he was, reliving the events that seemed a lifetime ago, a day that should have been light but shattered into darkness. For him, that day was now a memory among many others, bittersweet in gifting him the greatest possible happiness and simultaneously taking away more than he could bear. But still only a memory, one he was able to retrieve and cherish without breaking under its weight, then store away without the need to hold on.

He didn’t mind the silence. They would have time to talk later. All that mattered was her hand twined with his and as he glanced at her, he saw the woman he had loved for a decade, sad but healing.

She stopped at the bridge they had crossed on their wedding day, a place where they had rested to ease the aches in her feet and back. Sitting down on the bench, she pulled out the necklace she still carried and studied the lily shaped silver reflecting rays of light like frost, the tiny bell inside chiming softly as she turned it in her fingers.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been much of a wife to you, Chakotay.”

Her focus stayed on the pendant and he was left gazing at her profile, unsure how to respond to such unexpected and brutal honesty.

“You were grieving, Kathryn, I understand,” he said, wishing his voice was more convincing.

“It’s not just that and we both know it.”

He wanted to say something reassuring, something to show a path forward, but feared he would only create a new conflict and didn’t reply. So much hurt and mistrust remained. Repairing that damage wouldn’t be easy.

As an afterthought, it occurred to him that in many ways, their interaction hadn’t really evolved since their first days on Voyager. Whether either of them intended it or not, her existence defined his every breath, her mood his every word. What precisely was his role, his meaning to her at this point in her life, he didn’t know.

In the pitch-black night, he woke up to a click as their hotel room door closed.

Immediately alert, he got up and dressed, heart and mind racing with renewed worry. She’d been quiet the rest of the evening, her dinner untouched, the shadows in her eyes reminding him of the time two years ago. Knowing her impulsivity, he felt his chest tighten.

As he rushed into the empty corridor, he couldn’t shake the sense of déjà vu. That once again, he was being dragged into a dance she had chosen. Her melody, her rhythm, her lead. His own steps heavy and wavering in her wake.

Finding her wasn’t difficult.

Hunched over the railing under the bright lights piercing the night, staring into the dark waters far below, her form was almost ethereal. Distant, unattainable, like she had always remained to him.  

Even though he was far from her, she sensed his approach and turned to look at him. Something in her stance spoke of peace, the pendant she held against her chest serving as her anchor.

He could have had the time.

Time to call out to her, time to run and pull her away. Time to do something but watch her take first one step on the bench, the next on the railing.

Her white dress fluttered in the wind, her long hair hiding her face, and in a blink of an eye, she was gone without a sound, leaving him alone on the bridge with the cold biting through his jacket.

And in that surreal moment between shock and action, a moment that would keep tearing him apart with guilt for the rest of his days, the first thought that flashed through his mind was that finally, after all these years, he was free.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first try at aesthetics, ignore me.

  


  



End file.
